


Don't Know What to Think (When I'm Looking at You)

by smallearthcat (vamplover82)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art, M/M, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamplover82/pseuds/smallearthcat
Summary: One of the last things Zayn had expected was that touring meant he'd be drawing more often.





	Don't Know What to Think (When I'm Looking at You)

One of the last things Zayn had expected was that touring meant he'd be drawing more often. Writing songs sure, that was obvious, and that had happened, too, but in the early days, when he hadn't really been comfortable contributing that way, it wasn't a focus. Instead, he found himself doodling on whatever scraps of paper happened to be lying around, in meetings and on the bus. It wasn't that he wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him, just that it was easier when his hands were busy, when he could let his restlessness out that way rather than letting his thoughts wander.

And he hadn't thought to continue it seriously, but it was a good way to put people off sometimes, when he couldn't stand another minute without time alone. No one minded interrupting when he was doodling in the margins of a page of notes, but if he had a proper notebook and was obviously concentrating, they tended to leave him be unless he really was needed.

He never gave much thought to what he was sketching at first - the view out the bus window, the rig up backstage of the latest venue, the lads mucking about after soundcheck - basically whatever was on offer wherever he was at the time. It was something to do, not something to perfect. At least, it was until Niall flopped down next to him in the dressing room one day, frowning as he leaned over to peer at the drawing.

"Is that supposed t' be me?"

It is, obviously, because Niall's been fixing up his hair for the last twenty minutes, and Zayn's been half-heartedly capturing the moment for nearly as long. But when Zayn looks down and really studies what he's drawn, he finds that it's not quite _right_. He frowns, too, trying to pick out the bits that are wrong, pencil hovering uncertainly above the paper when he can't quite see it.

The jaw, maybe? He finally makes a tentative stroke, changing the angle a little, but no, that's not right either. He erases it but doesn't know what to try next. Niall sits next to him, quietly watching as he tries widening the eyes, bulking up the shoulders, slimming the waist, but none of it's right, and before he knows it, they're being summoned for show time, Paul looking just the slightest bit surprised to find them sitting in the dressing room rather than out running around with the others.

It's a good show, Zayn thinks when they finally run off stage, though he only has a vague sense of the screaming crowd they'd performed for. If he's being honest, he'd spent more than a little of the time staring at Niall, getting by mostly on rote memorisation. It's stupid to be hung up on this, probably, because it doesn't _matter_ if the drawing is right or not; it's a quick sketch that'll only end up in a stack of others on the bus until someone gets tired of the mess and bins the lot. But that doesn't stop him.

Any other hotel night, he'd be gearing up for a night out or winding down to turn in early, but tonight, he can't stop staring at the drawing. He's distracted enough not to notice much of what's going on around him, ending up back in the hotel room he's sharing with Niall purely because he's moved on to studying _Niall_ by the time they arrive and follows him in. Zayn sits on his bed and props himself against the headboard, plucking his pencil out of his bag and trying a few more adjustments to the sketch, barely registering when the shower goes on in the background. He does look up when the bathroom door clicks open, Niall smiling as he makes his way over to Zayn.

"Still not right?" he asks, though it must be obvious since he's still working on it.

Zayn rips the page out of his notebook in frustration, balling it up and tossing it across the room. Niall laughs then and barely dodges the kick Zayn aims in his direction. 

"Shut up, fucker." Zayn valiantly does not sulk.

Niall whips the towel from his waist and throws it at Zayn's head.

"Ugh, mate. Gross." Zayn makes a face and throws it back.

Niall just grins and pulls his pants on. "You coming out with us?"

Zayn shakes his head, grabbing his notebook again as Niall bends over his bag at the same angle he'd been bent towards the mirror earlier, looking for a pair of jeans. It'd definitely been the thighs, and Zayn needs to start over.

"Suit yourself." 

Niall continues pulling his clothes on as Zayn does a quick outline, shoulders hunched slightly, head tipped forward, jeans most of the way up, fingers clutching the sides of them, mid-motion. Zayn closes his eyes for a second as Niall turns away, trying to imprint the image on his mind so he can get the details right. He waves vaguely when he hears a "later, mate", too busy concentrating on flat, slightly dripping hair, to say a proper goodbye.

***

Zayn startles when the door clicks open, the line he was working on taking a sharp turn. "Fuck," he swears to himself, erasing it carefully, sure he'd been onto something before the interruption. The pecs are only a bit off, and if he can just…

"Zayn?" Niall sounds surprised, and Zayn looks up at him, suddenly aware that his eyes hurt.

"I- You're back already? What time is it?"

"4 AM. You're still working on that?"

Niall's swaying slightly, meaning he's probably a bit smashed, and when he leans against the wall, head tipped back and Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, Zayn's fingers twitch the corner of the page - that is definitely a look he wants to capture - but the image is ruined when Niall stumbles over to his bed, sprawling out and groaning.

"So tired, Zayn. Go t' sleep." Niall turns his head, half his face hidden in a pillow, and other half mostly hidden behind his arm. One eye squints at Zayn over his bicep, and Zayn's outlining it on the bottom corner of the page before he can think about it. Niall stretches his arm out deliberately, still eyeing Zayn, and switches out the light. Zayn doesn't have much choice but to set his things aside.

He realises then just how tired _he_ is, after hours curled over his notebook, starting and discarding page after page when none of them were good enough. He doesn't think Niall was with it enough to have noticed the pages strewn around the room, so if Zayn wakes up early, he might have a chance to clean up, keep Niall from seeing how many attempts he's made at this. Zayn falls asleep as his thoughts turn back to the way Niall had looked just before turning out the lights, that one eye seeming to see straight through him.

***

Zayn sleeps fitfully that night, tossing and turning, unable to escape thoughts of Niall and the altogether too many drawings he'd attempted earlier. It must be near morning by the time he finally settles down, and he should've known that he'd sleep right through and Niall would see everything. He thinks maybe he expected Niall would have enough of a hangover to have more of a lie in, but that was clearly a stupid assumption.

He wakes up a good deal more quickly than usual, shooting up in bed, heart pounding, when he sees that the floor is empty, all the scattered pages missing. He calms a little when he sees the collected stack sat on the desk across the room, though his insides squirm unpleasantly when it confirms his fear that Niall actually saw all of them.

It feels a bit like coming out of a stupor, noticing just how many pages there are, how many more than there should be. Did he really go through all of those? It must be half the notebook there. He slides off the bed and grabs them, flipping through the stack slowly. They're still all wrong.

He stuffs them back in the notebook and tosses it into his bag as he digs out some clothes for the day, annoyed that he'd spent so much time on something that had turned out to be a fruitless endeavor. Why does he feel such a need to get it right anyway? It's not like he'll be doing anything with any of them. No one's going to see them, and it's not like he needs to practice something he's only doing as a lark in the first place. He can't help opening the notebook one more time and running critical eyes over the top page again before heading off for his shower. He shakes his head, frustrated. He still can't see it, and it doesn't matter.

***

It does matter, though, which becomes apparent in the following weeks. He doesn't spend all his time drawing, both because he'd go out of his mind and because he does have a job to do. One he loves and wants to succeed at, and no ridiculous perfectionist tendency is going to interfere. It's not a problem, he doesn't think, but it's noticeable, at least, which is almost as bad.

He's been staring off into space for a good few minutes, or possibly following Niall with his eyes as Niall zips back and forth doing...Zayn's not sure what, exactly. Point is, Zayn is distracted, which allows Louis the opportunity to sneak up close and snatch his notebook out of unresisting fingers.

It takes Zayn a second too long to figure out what's going on, and by then Louis has already started flipping back through the pages. Zayn flushes, because really, _no one's supposed to see those_. When Louis starts cackling, Zayn launches himself in that direction, landing on top of Louis with an 'oof'.

"Guess we know what's had you so distracted lately."

He starts trying to push Zayn off when Zayn starts tickling, and somehow it turns into a pile, the five of them rolling around on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand.

Eventually, they all end up lying on the floor laughing, and Zayn decides they've called it a draw. When he looks around, he sees his notebook has mostly come through it unscathed, though the latest page (Niall sprawled on a sofa, head tipped back, content) is a bit worse for wear. Oh well, he thinks, trying to smooth it out; it's not like it's any good anyway.

Zayn takes the point after that, though, leaving his notebook in his bag more often than not, unwilling to let anyone see how much of a _thing_ it continues to be, how it seems like all his waking thoughts are consumed with Niall.

Since he isn't actively drawing in down times so much anymore, he finds himself spending increasingly longer watching Niall, the way he moves and how he's put together. It's a weird feeling when it happens, like he's seeing Niall as nothing more than the sum of his parts; not his friend, but a collection of arms and legs, head and torso. And then Niall will turn to him and smile, and the feeling will dissipate, leaving Zayn on edge, fingers twitching for a pencil but also itching to _touch_. Feel that Niall's a real person, here in the moment with him, rather than a figment of his imagination he can't manage to adequately depict on paper. He's become rather clingy, he thinks, draping himself along Niall's side and hiding his smile in Niall's neck as Niall folds an arm around his shoulders.

***

A few nights later, they're in a hotel again, Zayn with a room to himself, and he can tell before they've even left the venue after the show that it's going to be a drawing night. He's been mostly in his own head all day, can't seem to concentrate on anything that isn't Niall, especially not when Niall notices the attention and returns it, a look in his eye that Zayn can't quite place and longs to put to paper.

He hurries on ahead, eager to get to it, and he's digging in his bag almost the second he's in his room. Somehow the current notebook has made its way to the bottom - and when had he got so _many_ of them anyway? No wonder the bag's so heavy - and he's just sat on the bed with it propped up on his knees when the door clicks. Shut, as it turns out, because he'd apparently been in too much of a hurry to shut it properly. Zayn's heart starts pounding unexpectedly hard when Niall walks in and settles on the closest corner of the bed, wearing that same look he'd been sporting earlier. Zayn clutches the notebook reflexively, though he does fold his legs down in front of him and meet Niall's eyes.

"You've been doing this for a while now," Niall says. "Have you really not got what you wanted yet?"

Zayn takes a deep breath, and it comes out a lot more unevenly than he'd like. "I can't get it right."

"There's over a month's worth of notebooks in there," he nods toward Zayn's bag, "and everything in them is gorgeous."

Zayn looks away then; it's not that he hadn't known Niall had seen them, but the confirmation is too much. He doesn't know how to explain what he's been doing or why it's so important, though he wishes he could, god does he want that. If he knew how to explain it, how to _get it right_ , he could get past this. "It's not _you_ ," is the best he can do.

Niall is silent for so long that Zayn chances another look at him, afraid of what he'll see but needing to know anyway, willing Niall to understand enough to leave him to it. Niall is biting his lip, and the tips of his ears are red. Zayn is curious enough about what Niall's thinking that he's about to ask when Niall finally speaks up.

"Is it alright if I try something?" His eyes dart to Zayn and away again. "Like, I want you to draw me how I want to be drawn. Okay?"

Zayn doesn't know what to say, hadn't expected Niall to even let him keep on as he had been, let alone actually _indulge_ him in this. Niall's looking him dead in the eye again, and all Zayn can do is nod, fingers clutching his pencil so tightly, he's surprised it hasn't snapped.

It probably shouldn't be as much of a shock as it is when Niall begins to undress, kicking his trainers and socks to the side and pulling his shirt over his head. A large part of Zayn expects him to stop there, to say that this is some kind of joke or to flex his muscles and make some cheesy comment about his irresistible looks. The smaller, less rational part of him _knows_ where this is going, has maybe been hoping for _something_ , and he's instantly turned on, breath hitching and cock going hard as Niall pushes his jeans down and off.

Niall must lose his nerve then, because he just stands there, nearly naked, a blush slowly staining his face and neck red. Zayn is completely frozen, wants to change this into something, _anything_ other than what it is, but more than that he wants Niall to take his fucking pants off.

Out of nowhere, there's a noise, something like a whimper, and it takes Zayn a second to realise it came from him. He'd be embarrassed about it, but apparently it's enough to firm up Niall's resolve, and by the time Niall's pants are on the floor, Zayn _really_ doesn't care anymore what kind of stupid noises he might make. He doesn't know what to do though, so he just stares, eyes moving slowly down a body he's seen so many times before, but never like this. His gaze stutters away when it reaches Niall's cock, because it feels way too intimate to see one of his mates standing naked and hard in front of him, _for_ him.

He's drawn back in when Niall scoots up and lays down, so close that Zayn could almost reach out and touch him. Niall doesn't try to arrange himself any particular way, just stretches out flat with an arm thrown over his head and his eyes closed.

" _Draw me_."

There's no mistaking the demand in it, and Zayn can't help but comply, though it's most definitely not his first impulse. His pencil flies over the paper, the outline coming easy after so many times sketching it out; he barely has to look down. The details take more concentration, distract him more easily as he fills in arms, collarbone, nipples. He works in silence for long minutes and only glances up again when he catches movement, Niall's left hand sliding up his thigh and over to grip his cock, body tensing up at that first bit of contact.

Zayn inhales sharply, cock throbbing in sympathy, and he wants nothing more than to have that hand touching him, to have his hand be the one on Niall's cock. He pauses, heart thudding, wondering if he should give up on the drawing now, until Niall croaks out, " _Zayn_ ," voice unbelievably hoarse.

Niall has his eyes open again, turned toward Zayn and looking at him with, _fuck_ , that same look from earlier, the one that is now so obviously _want_ , and Zayn has never so badly wanted to capture a moment exactly as it is, while at the same time wanting nothing more than to lose himself in it.

His hand trembles as he turns slowly back to his notebook, because if he doesn't finish this now, he's not going to. Eyes, nose, lips all fill in quickly, faster than Zayn's ever worked before. Messy hair, legs splayed just enough for Zayn to get a glimpse down past Niall's cock and to his balls, arm tensed as he strokes himself slowly, like he's got all the time in the world, or maybe like he's waiting for Zayn to finish.

There's no way it's perfect, no way it could be with how fast it's done and how distracted Zayn's been the entire time, but he doesn't care at all, tosses the notebook and pencil carelessly off the bed, practically flinging himself at Niall. He has a moment to think - maybe he should have asked first, because even now, he's not _sure_ Niall had meant for it to go this far, to end this way - before he's smashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss.

Niall's arms wind around him immediately, gripping the back of his neck to line things up a bit better and tugging the bottom of Zayn's shirt up as far as it will go. Zayn wants to do this properly, take his time exploring a body he's spent so long studying and revel in the fact that it's not _just_ a body, but _Niall_ , who's gone and done this mad, wonderful thing for him. But that'll have to be for later, because Zayn's too far gone to worry about anything other than getting his cock free and feeling Niall's up against it.

He struggles for a second with his zip, but when he gets it, he shoves his trousers and pants down around his thighs, moaning as he presses his hips down against Niall's. It feels like he's been waiting for this for ages, and he can't believe now that he'd sat just _looking_ for so long when he could have had this. Niall thrusts up in response and kisses him more deeply, tongue sliding against his in the same sort of rhythm their hips have picked up. After a moment, Niall shifts his hand until he's gripping both their dicks tightly, giving Zayn exactly what he'd been wanting, and pulling them off together.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Zayn to come, and he might feel self-conscious about it if Niall hadn't come a moment later, in the midst of Zayn trying to catch his breath. Zayn should move, he knows that; he's lying on top of Niall, probably crushing him a bit, and they're both sticky, but none of that matters. What does matter is that something in him feels settled, in a way he hasn't for a while, like he's found something he hadn't even known was missing.

Niall shoves him to the side a bit, and Zayn rolls off him with reluctance. "That zip's chafing my thigh like mad, don't know how you don't feel it."

Now that Niall's mentioned it, Zayn does, and he gets up to strip off his pretty well ruined clothes. He wonders if he should put something on, a clean pair of pants at least, but Niall hasn't moved and doesn't look like he will anytime soon, so Zayn decides not to bother. He does go wet a flannel to clean up with, and on his way back, he spies his notebook, still open to the same page as when he'd thrown it aside.

He tosses the flannel at Niall, smirking a little at the surprised squawk that elicits, and bends to pick up the notebook, studying the page intently. It's crude, definitely - how could it be anything else? - but it's different than all the others, has that _whatever_ that's been missing, that he still can't think how to define even though he can see it right there in front of him.

"Hey, babe," Niall says, snaking his arms around Zayn's waist and hooking his chin over Zayn's shoulder to look with him. "Did you get it this time?"

"Yeah, I-" Zayn clears his throat and curls his arm over the top of Niall's. "It looks like you."

Niall chuckles, and Zayn's dick twitches at his sudden awareness of the fact that they're both naked, and Niall's pressed all along him, skin to skin. "They always did, even that first one."

"It looks the way I see you," Zayn says quietly. "How did you know that would be it? That _that_ was what I was missing?"

Niall drops a light kiss on his shoulder. "I didn't for sure. But I figured, most people don't get so fixated if they're not pretty far gone, yeah?"

"Yeah," Zayn agrees, not quite liking that he hadn't got it himself, that he'd had to be all but propositioned to understand his own feelings. He brushes his fingers over the sketch before closing the notebook and setting it on the desk, turning in Niall's arms and wrapping his own around Niall's shoulders.

"Good thing I've got you, then," he says, sounding less sure than he'd hoped.

Niall leans in for a kiss, stopping just before their lips touch. "Good thing you've got me."


End file.
